


Where I Belong to Be

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: A breeches-ripper inspired by  thisincredible gifset by rubysharkruby.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Where I Belong to Be

**Author's Note:**

> For the Terror Bingo square "facials."

_"Because I want to; because I must; because now and forever more this is where I belong to be.”_ -Daphne Du Maurier, "Jamaica Inn"

“They say you're a pirate, Mr. Little.” 

Thomas is pleased his voice sounds surer than he feels. Inside his chest, his heart hammers so vigorously, he's surprised the horses don't hear it and bolt. Instead, they stand placidly in their stalls. There is a swishing of tails, back and forth, but the only one moving is the big bay mare, who shifts her weight as Edward Little brushes her coat. 

He is silent for so long, Thomas wonders if Little heard the accusation. It is unfortunate if he did not, since Thomas has been building up the courage to voice it ever since Sir John Franklin came to tea, and told the captain there were pirates operating in the choppy waters off the coast. He seemed like he was angling for the captain to volunteer to man a ship to fight them, but if that was the case, then Sir John was destined for disappointment. 

“I swore when I left the Navy I'd never set foot on the sea again,” Captain Crozier had told Thomas, more times than he could count. Not even Sir John could induce him to forget this vow. 

At last, Little looks up from the horse. “Is that so, Mr. Jopson?” His expression is as inscrutable as always, although something akin to amusement appears in his big brown eyes. 

Outside, rain batters the stable roof. It's still a very warm night, and the room seems to be growing more humid by the moment. Thomas can feel a bead of sweat rolling down his back, right between his shoulder blades. “Yes. And it's a very serious allegation.” 

“It is indeed. May I ask who makes it?” 

Thomas could say Sir John, but that would be a lie. Sir John named no suspects. It is Thomas himself who drew the line between these mysterious pirates and Edward Little. To be fair, the conclusion is not an obvious one. Little is serious-minded, and devoted to his duty. Being extraordinarily handsome in a slightly rakish way, with thick dark hair and perpetually unfastened collars, does not make one a pirate. 

But there is more. 

“I overheard you one night, in the tavern.” Some weeks ago now. Thomas, sitting alone in the corner, had been steeling himself to go and speak to Little. There would be no impropriety in it. They were both servants after all, or near enough to it. A gentleman's valet and an ostler. It was only Little's good looks that made Thomas hesitate. Or rather, the feelings those looks evoked in him. “Mr. Hodgson from the Lifeboats came in and told you about a 'fine treasure coming into Falmouth in a fortnight.'” 

Another silence. Thomas watches as Little pats the horse firmly on its flank, then puts away the brush.“If I am a pirate, then you are placing yourself in grave danger, are you not?" Little gazes at Thomas from beneath the wide brim of his hat. "Coming here alone, at this time of night.” 

“Perhaps I informed someone of my plans. Perhaps they have instructions to report you to the pirate hunters if I do not return.” Or perhaps not. 

“Perhaps.” Little steps forward, moving around the wooden wall of the stall until he stands in the central aisle with Thomas. The stable smells, of course, of horse and of hay. Thomas' nose itches. “Do you believe it yourself?” 

“That you are a pirate?” Little nods. “I...” Not particularly. But Little is something. “I don't know what to think of you,” Thomas admits.

Little seems like more than an ostler. Thomas has thought so ever since he first came here, accompanying the captain on his post-Antarctic retirement to this little Cornish village. Apart from being handsome, Little is thoughtful, and kind-hearted. Thomas has never seen him be anything other than loving to the horses in his care, even though they do not belong to him and, often, don't repay his kindness. But he also seems too educated for his position. 

Once, Crozier asked Little to accompany him to St. Ives to look at a horse the captain had a mind to purchase. Although Thomas did not need to go along, he wasn't about to turn down the opportunity. Crozier and Little spent nearly the entire trip talking of everything from naval history to literature to music. “Capital fellow,” was Crozier's assessment of Little, although he didn't buy the horse in the end. 

“Do you?” Little's voice, which until now has been steady, suddenly cracks. In the dim lamplight, Thomas can see the beginnings of a blush appearing on Edward's face. At once, his own face burns in sympathy. He hopes the light is low enough for him not to look completely ridiculous. “Think of me?” 

Thomas should go. His feet refuse to obey. Instead, he swallows, his throat dry despite the cloying humidity, and confesses, “Too often.” 

Little blinks in surprise. Before Thomas can retract his words, attempt to explain, flee the stable entirely, Little steps forward again, putting them toe-to-toe. “What...ah, what is _too often_ , Mr. Jopson?” 

When Thomas wakes up in the morning, and when he goes to bed at night. While he's mending the captain's clothing, and shining the captain's shoes, and reading the captain's newspaper. On one particular occasion, when he was shaving the captain's face, the inopportune vision of Little emerging from the frigid sea, his wet shirt rendered transparent and his nipples tantalizingly peaked, popped into Thomas' head with such alarming clarity, he nicked Captain Crozier's chin and had to hold his handkerchief against it, apologizing profusely, until the bleeding stopped. 

In the end, Thomas tells the truth. “All the time, Mr. Little.” 

Little's eyes grow wide. Thomas moves to make his escape, only to have Little grab him by the arm. 

“You are not alone,” Little says, his voice tight with emotion. Before Thomas can reply, before he can do anything, Little uses the hand on his arm to pull him into an embrace. 

Thomas has kissed men before. Two of them, on half a dozen occasions put together. None of those kisses felt like this. For a man with such a quiet, unassuming demeanour, Little— _Edward_ —kisses with a crushing passion that is entirely unexpected, and completely welcome. He holds Thomas firmly, one hand still on his arm and the other against his face, gripping his jaw with a strength that makes Thomas' knees feel weak. When Edward's hat falls to the floor, Thomas takes advantage of the situation to thread his fingers into that thick hair he has spent so long admiring from afar. 

Edward's face is unshaven. _I could fix that_ , Thomas thinks, as Edward's stubble rasps against Thomas' own. The idea of shaving Edward, of being that close to him, performing such an intimate function, causes a renewed wave of vigour in Thomas. He pushes even nearer, his tongue sliding hotly against Edward's. 

When Edward pulls away, Thomas' lips feel numb. His heart is hammering even harder than before, but the very last thing he wants to do is stop. 

“Edward,” he whimpers. It earns him a growl in return. Before he can realize what is happening, Edward falls to his knees on the dusty stable floor. 

Thomas has never been the sort of man to seek out danger. He had enough of it for a lifetime, sailing with the captain all those years. Now, the perilous possibility of being caught adds an exciting edge to a situation that is already so much more than Thomas ever dreamed of. Edward's mouth is warm and firm on his cock, his tongue skilled enough that Thomas surmises this is not his first time doing it. When he looks down, he finds Edward looking up at him. Edward blinks, long and slow. Thomas' cock jerks in Edward's mouth and, in an instant, Thomas is on the precipice. 

“Be careful,” he warns, pushing Edward away. He doesn't go quickly enough. Thomas pulls out of his mouth just in time, but he still manages to spend on the poor man's face, striping his chin and his lips and the freckled bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry,” Thomas gasps. Edward does not seem mortally offended. Instead, he reaches up and swipes a finger through the seed. As Thomas stares, unable to look away if his life depended on it, Edward slowly licks his own finger, his gaze deliberately holding Thomas' as his pink tongue takes it all in. 

The final stall in the row is empty, and clean. This is fortunate, since Thomas does not pause to think about it before he pushes Edward inside, landing on top of him in a pile of sweet-smelling hay. He fumbles with Edward's trousers, finally pushing them down as far as is necessary. Edward gasps curses, interspersed with Thomas' name, as Thomas takes him in hand. He's as large as Thomas would have hoped, long and thick besides. Thomas runs his fingers along Edward's rigid length, then wraps them around to fondle him in earnest. 

It has been a long time since Thomas did this to anyone but himself. He fancies he has not lost his skill. Edward certainly seems to have no complaints. He sobs aloud when Thomas slides back his foreskin and presses his thumb to the tip of his lovely cock, smearing the thick liquid already beading there. 

A few more strokes, and Edward's breathing is growing increasingly ragged, his fist twining increasingly tightly in the back of Thomas' shirt. When Edward spends, he pulls Thomas down beside him, kissing him soundly as he spurts hot and wet over Thomas' hand. 

Afterwards, they lie together for what seems like hours, but what is more likely only minutes. A burst of raucous laughter from the tavern next door snaps them out of their haze. Thomas sits up abruptly and rights his clothing, unsure whether he should look at Edward, but still unable to tear his gaze away. 

“A clavier,” Edward says at length, breaking the silence. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“That's what George Hodgson was telling me about. A slightly famous musician performed at the church in Falmouth. He brought his own clavier with him.” 

“Oh.” Even though Thomas no longer believes Edward is a pirate—even though he never truly did—this is a rather unsatisfying explanation. 

“I'm sorry,” Edward say, sweetly rueful. “I wish the story were more thrilling.” 

Thomas has never kissed a man in the immediate aftermath of relations. It would be wiser, certainly, to flee, not to press his luck either with Edward or with the fact they haven't been caught. Instead, he leans forward. Edward meets him easily, and kisses him back, over and over, as if Thomas is a delectable dish, or some fine wine of which Edward cannot get enough. Although he is very recently satisfied, Thomas can feel his body begin to wind itself up again already. 

“I have a room,” Edward says, suddenly sounding shy. On the other side of the wooden partition, a horse whinnies, then stamps its hooves. “That is, ah, if you would, if you would like...”

“Yes.” 

Edward looks at him. “Should you go home first?” When Thomas blinks in confusion, Edward continues, “To make sure everyone knows you're all right. I don't fancy the thought of pirate hunters breaking down my door when we're in the middle of...something.” There's a shadow of a smile on his lips. 

Thomas draws himself up. “Captain Crozier believes I have gone to visit my mother. He doesn't expect me back until lunchtime tomorrow.” 

“That's rather dangerous, is it not? If you thought me a pirate?” 

Thomas no longer cares to dwell on this particular misconception, or on the hopes—secret, unvoiced even to Thomas himself, but apparently not unfounded—that had brought him to Edward's stable this evening. “I suppose it's just as well you're not one, isn't it?” 

Edward springs easily to his feet, then holds out a hand to help Thomas up. He brushes the hay from Thomas' clothes, leaning in close to pick a strand from his hair. Edward smells like horses, leather and sweat. It's not a scent he ever thought he would found alluring. On this man, he does. There is very little, Thomas is beginning to think, that would not be alluring on this man. 

“I never said I wasn't, though,” Edward points out. At Thomas' expression of surprise, Edward laughs loudly, a sound of pure joy Thomas has never heard from him before. It sends a wave of emotion directly to Thomas' heart, a wave which moves distinctly southwards when Edward sweeps him off his feet into a long, lascivious embrace.


End file.
